


How to start a war

by interpret_who (Blizdal)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Gen, References to Depression, being a jedi is not easy, fic with art, pre and post order 66
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizdal/pseuds/interpret_who
Summary: There is a world in which Obi-Wan Kenobi starts Falling, and doesn’t notice. Luckily, Falling is a process. It takes a while before you hit rock bottom.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Clone Troopers
Comments: 70
Kudos: 314





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I kept some of Obi-Wan's background from the books, but there are only couple of references to it, as I haven’t actually read them.  
> First chapter will be up shortly. The second one will be up in a week, and the third one a week after that. The fic is fully written, I just need to make some minor edits before posting.

They teach in the crèche that nobody is immune to the Dark Side, that everyone is capable of Falling. _There is no Light that cannot be Darkened_ , the crèche master cautions, _so we all have to be careful not to let the Darkness in_.

But darkness is so many things, and you can’t keep all of them out. That’s the next lesson.

“But what then?” A youngling asks, “What do we do then?”

“You face it. You have to be brave, little one. If you hide from it, it will grow. But first, you have to recognize it. Darkness comes in many forms. Light too, can come from surprising places.”

“What if you can’t get all of it out?” a Twi’lek girl asks, worried.

“You just have to do your best,” The crèche master bops her on the nose, smiling, “We all end up a bit smudged in the end.”


	2. 1

It doesn’t start with Bruck, Bandomeer or Melida/Daan. It doesn’t start with any of his subsequent missions while he is a Padawan. And even standing in front of the Council hearing his Master forsake him for another doesn’t- Well, It hurts, and it is a hurt that wounds and scars but it’s not one that remains bleeding. He doesn’t think of his Master as fondly as he once would have, after that, but that doesn’t make him any less of a Jedi.

(He thinks, once, _I wouldn’t have forgiven you so quickly, Qui-Gon, if you had lived_.)

It doesn’t start on Naboo, with Qui-Gon injured and dying. For all that he fights Maul with anger, he doesn’t draw on the Dark Side. There is a difference between fighting with anger and letting it consume you. He blazes with Light, and that’s what Yoda sees when he looks at him after the fight, his training bond in tatters and his mental shields battered.

He is not knighted for killing a Sith, he is knighted because he didn’t succumb to the Dark side when it tempted him. Maul could have escaped and he still would have been knighted. It takes him a while to understand that. It takes until he is a member of the Council discussing with the others whether someone is ready to be Knighted or not.

The realization feels like a burden, lifted from his shoulders, and he blinks languidly and raises his eyes from the floor to see Master Yoda, looking at him knowingly, slight smile on his face, gentle and kind. He nods and smiles sheepishly when Yoda cackles, pleased. 

(He doesn’t have an existential crisis when it turns out that Maul is still alive. He doesn’t feel like his Knighthood is fake, like he is a fraud. The thoughts cross his mind, but he knows it’s not the killing that makes a Jedi.)

It doesn’t start when Anakin lies to him for the first time. Or the second time, or the fifth, the hundredth, the last. Everyone lies, sooner or later. Not all lies are damaging, not all lies are vicious. Anakin lies big and he doesn’t lie well, and he doesn’t mean to be cruel and he doesn’t mean to hurt. In the end, no one hurts him as much as Anakin does, his student, his best friend, his brother, his child.

His _Padawan_. There’s a reason they use the old word for it. Apprentice simply doesn’t cover all that a Padawan is, for all that it is the closest word for it in Basic.

It starts like this:

On the bridge of the Negotiator, on the way back to front after a short visit to Coruscant. Staring into the dark of the space, and the distant lights of the stars, with Cody couple of steps behind him, to the right and the steady breathing of the skeleton crew of the third shift.

Cody doesn’t ask how the talks with the Senate went, he already knows, has always known that they will never go in their favour and Obi-Wan hates that he, the one they call the Negotiator, has lost the most important negotiations he ever was a part of. Shame curls in his heart, expanding with every breath.

The fact that the clones have no right but to serve and die now was something he knew he would not be able to change, but after… He thought they could win them freedom for after the war, but the Senate said no. Mace’s face was deathly calm when the voting was done, but in the Force he was rage incarnate. It took him the entire trip back to Temple to release it. _This does not end here_ , Mace had whispered, a secret, a vow, and Obi-Wan did not need to say anything for his friend to know he’s on the same page. For the Senate to allow something like this… the Republic is dying, bit by bit.

He turns to look at Cody and his Second’s face is impassive, that of a consummate professional, but his eyes are resigned when he meets them. In Force he is a ball of purpose, duty and loyalty and a thread of forgiveness Obi-Wan feels he will never deserve, and he thinks _If I have to fight another war after this one, so you and your brothers are free, I will._

_If I have to_ start _it, I will._

*

It begins not because he vows to fight injustice, he is a Jedi, after all, but because he admits to himself that he will do whatever it takes.

It starts with a single thought, that he can’t let go of.

*

There is a world in which Obi-Wan Kenobi starts Falling, and doesn’t notice.

* * *

Obi-Wan wonders if his men know he _sees_ them and does not ever think of them as _less_. Wonders if Cody, like Slick, ever thinks of Jedi, of _him_ , as his slavers.

He doesn’t have time to sit them all down and explain. To teach them about centuries of history and politics and that the Order doesn’t have a vote in the Senate, let alone power. They die too quickly anyway. One breath they’re here, the next they’re gone. It’s not a good enough excuse, not even close, but it’s the only one he has.

He can’t think too much about how he is leading an army of slaves. How he’s the one they see giving them orders. How there’s not much he can do to help them. How he doesn’t have time to fight for their rights the way they deserve. How he can’t even delegate the job to someone because there is no one free. How powerless he truly is.

He has to be able to live with himself somehow.

“For the Republic!” he hears a man scream as he rushes into the fray, and his heart breaks.

*

Cody has heard his General lecture Skywalker that _this weapon is your life_ , enough times to know what it means when his General reaches out a hand to him, palm open to accept his lighsaber. Knows what it means that he is trusted to keep it safe and then give it back.

“So your Master likes you?” Slick had asked derisively, once, “Doesn’t mean you’re not a slave.”

It had shaken Cody more than he would ever admit to anyone.

It lasts until it happens again. Until his General’s lightsaber drops next to him and he picks it up.

_His General’s life is in his hands._

He spots him a few minutes later. He’s facing away from Cody. He barely has any armour on, has never worn a helmet, and the back of his neck is vulnerable, exposed.

It wouldn’t take much.

Kriff, he could even go up to him, extend his hand to give him the lighsaber and watch as the light leaves his eyes when he presses the button and the blade springs forward, through him.

He’d never see it coming.

Or maybe he would. Cody doesn’t understand the Force, but he knows it might warn him.

It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like he would ever do it. He is a good soldier. Loyal to the Republic, and his General has been mandated by the Republic to lead him. That’s all he needs to know.

It’s the first and last time he thinks such thoughts. His General turns to him and looks at him and not through him, like most of the galaxy does and Cody knows Slick is wrong. Not about everything, but about enough.

* * *

They loose a couple of Knights in the beginning of the war. Not to droids, no. That would be a mercy compared to what happens to them. Their mental shields crumble under the constant onslaught of death and they are simply gone. Obi-Wan has seen one when they were transporting them to the healers. The Knight was awake, staring into nothing, not saying a word. Like a house, in which the lights are on, but nobody’s there. Some souls are too fragile to survive war.

Obi-Wan tightens his own shields, until he can barely feel when his men die they next to him. His strength lies in Unifying force, luckily. He has easier time of it than most, when it comes to dealing with constant dying around them.

( _His_ soul was built for war)

He leads his Padawan into joint meditation, tugs on the training bond, examines his shields and urges him to build them higher, bigger, stronger. Anakin does, reluctantly. He likes being able to feel everyone around him. Likes to be able to reach out and keep tabs on those close to him. On Padmé. He is constantly reaching for her, stretching his senses far. Yearning.

“We’re fighting a war, Padawan.” Obi-Wan whispers, haunted by the image of that Knight. He doesn’t want to loose Anakin like that. It could happen easily. Anakin is strong in the Force. Stronger than anyone else. “We have to shield more than we normally would.”

Anakin does, he shields against the world, and his shields are strong. Strong enough to keep Obi-Wan out as well, once he is Knighted and their training bond is gone. But such is the price of these things, of growing up. By the time Anakin is Knighted he will have learned to modulate his own shields, to make his own choice when to do so. He won’t need his Master’s help. It’s a bittersweet thought. But they’re not there yet. Knighting doesn’t happen before the Padawan is ready.

*

“He’s not ready,” he tells the Council members when they inform him that Anakin is to be Knighted. The war is hungry for Generals, and Anakin is a only a Commander as long as he is tethered to him.

“Faith in your student you do not have? In your teachings?”

“He is not ready,” he repeats, begging.

“At some point, a student must leave the safety of his Master if he is to continue to grow.” Plo tells him, gently, and Obi-Wan wants to snarl, because they do not understand. They don’t understand.

Master Windu steeples his hands, “You disagree?”

Obi-Wan hides his hands inside the sleeves of his robes, “He is not at that point yet,” he meets Mace’s eyes, “He is not ready.” He takes a deep breath, “I am his Master, I am the one sharing a training bond with him, and I am telling you it is too early.”

They seem unmoved.

“I am not being an anxious mama bantha,” he snaps, “He’s not months away from being ready, he’s at least couple of years away from being ready.” Anakin is still in his teens. Not for long, but still.

A few of the Council members shift in their seats, surprised, and he blows out a long breath, “I know we need more people to command the troops, but-” he rubs at his forehead, tired, “Anakin is… he’ll do a good job.” he admits, “But mentally and emotionally, he is not prepared to do a good job. For consequences of doing a good job. He’ll-” he trails off.

“Sense something, you do?”

“He’s dangerous,” he says, his mind far away. It’s something he has always felt, since the first time he met him. “You’re only going to make him more dangerous.” His voice echoes strangely, and the atmosphere in the council chamber becomes uneasy, heavy. He is well known for prescience. He has never been able to see shatter-points, and although full visions are not common for him, he is no stranger to them either. This is how his prescience usually manifests, in annoying surety of something, with no details or explanation.

He blinks, pulling his mind back from the currents of the Force.

Master Yoda thumps his stick on the floor, “Sorry, I am, but needs must. Focus on the present we need to. Knighted, Skywalker will be.”

Obi-Wan bites his tongue, and meets Yoda’s eyes. They are sad, he notes. Old.

“Faith in him, you should have. Faith in the Force.” 

He will wonder later if he should have fought harder. If he _could_ have fought harder. Wonders how Anakin would have reacted if he had known that Obi-Wan had fought at all, had opposed his Knighting.

Because he had gone to Anakin after. _I am so proud of you, my Padawan_ , he had said, braiding his braid for the last time, so it would be pretty when it is cut. He had meant it too, with all his heart. He had put his hands on Anakin’s shoulders when he was done, squeezed gently and bent his forehead until it met the back of Anakin’s head and flooded their bond with his pride and love. Their bond too, will be gone soon.

He had heard Anakin’s breath hitch, felt him shyly respond through the bond, wordless.

 _Padawan_ , he sent, overwhelmed, _how will I ever let you go_ , he kept.

* * *

Obi-Wan is on Coruscant for an emergency Council meeting when the Force nudges him to the training halls. He makes sure to remain unseen. He doesn’t want to give anyone any false hope. He remembers how it felt when a Knight or a Master visited, when he was still an Initiate, desperate to be picked as a Padawan. It’s no secret that his Padawan has been Knighted. He doesn’t want them to think that he is looking for a new one. He never had time as a solo Knight. He is a Master now, but some time without a child to care for would be nice.

The Initiates are doing saber work and they are a delight to watch, so small and Light and good.

His eyes stray to a Togruta in the corner. She’s among the oldest. If it were not for the war, she would have already been sent to the Corps. It brings to mind old hurts, but he banishes them away, with years of practice, quickly.

The Force whispers, _yours_. He frowns, displeased.

 _This one_ , it insists.

He didn’t come here looking for a new Padawan. Not so soon after Knighting his old one. Not when Anakin’s hair is yet to grow out of a Padawan’s cut.

Still, the Force is persistent so he observes her for a few days, looks into her records, talks to her instructors discretely, talks to Plo, who lights up when Obi-Wan expresses his hesitant interest.

He meditates on it, considers the dangers of bringing such a young one into the war and in the end succumbs to the wishes of the Force and notifies the Council.

He knows it’s going to be different than training Anakin. Ahsoka is temple raised, for one, and her talents are different than Anakin’s. It doesn’t take him long to warm up to the idea, though, not once he’s accepted the will of the Force. He’s strangely nervous and cautiously excited. He prepares space for her on his ship, gathers training materials and notifies his men. He gets ready for her arrival. He is sent back to the front before he has a chance to ask her to be his Padawan properly, but the Council will send her to him, as soon as the situation calms down slightly, as soon as she finishes the necessary classes at the Temple and is given basic training that all Padawans go through before they are allowed to join the GAR.

Cody gives him an amused look when he notices his nervousness, but Waxer seems ecstatic when he hears that they will have a young one on board.

*

The day of her arrival comes and it is nothing he had hoped it would be.

Yoda sends her to Anakin, and Obi-Wan burns with betrayal. Of all the initiates in the Temple, Yoda gave Anakin the one that was supposed to be his.

The next session of the Council happens a few days later. When the call connects he remains quiet, and the others notice because, truthfully, they were watching.

“Why?” he croaks out, painfully, looking at Yoda who bows his head, sympathetic but not regretful.

“Knight Skywalker needed her more, he did.”

And that- That _hurts_. Anakin needed a Master so he was going to get his; he needed a Padawan, so he got his.

“They are not a bad match.” Mace adds. Plo seems unhappy and the rest of the Council is uneasy, but they remain quiet.

“They are not a good one, either. And that’s not the point, Master Windu. The Force led me to her, you are not following the will of the Force by giving her to him.”

“ _Master Kenobi_ ,” Master Mundi reprimands him, and Obi-Wan frowns.

“I’m telling it as it is.” he shoots back, “Besides, Anakin is not ready to have a Padawan of his own.”

“And you were, when you took him on?”

He freezes, takes a breath, glares, “I wasn’t. That’s why I know. I struggled, despite all the help I had. I don’t want Anakin to go through what I did. One day, he will be a wonderful Master to someone. Not now. You know that. You still pair him up with me whenever possible, let’s not pretend that’s not because he wasn’t ready to be Knighted.”

“Help each other they will”, Yoda says, with an air of finality, “help them _you_ will, as well.”

Of course he will, that was never in question.

In the end, he bows his head, acquiescing. He knows they mean well. Knows what they are trying to achieve by giving Anakin someone to care for, someone who depends on him. Knows it’s a pairing that has potential. Ahsoka will be well cared for. It might be good for both of them.

“You didn’t even warn me.” He says, tired and hurt, “You didn’t warn Anakin. You crossed a line, Masters. You crossed so many.”

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry, “ _We will cross so many,_ ” he adds, as an afterthought, but with a tone of inevitability and sees Mace, out of the corner of his eye, rub at his head. Obi-Wan knows him well enough by now to know how he reacts when shatterpoints crack into existence.

*

R2-D2 almost falls into Separatists hands and Anakin is not sorry (not sorry enough, not sorry at all) for not erasing Artoo’s memory bank with the entire strategy of the Republic on it. For troopers dying to prevent a catastrophe from happening. And Ashoka is picking up all his bad habits and Obi-Wan, at this rate, will turn completely grey before he reaches forty.

Then the battle of Felucia happens and Ashoka is truly her Master’s Padawan and he despairs. Direct orders mean nothing to those two. He rubs his forehead, feeling a headache taking root. He releases his anger to the Force, and it lingers stubbornly, before obeying.

No one likes to be summoned before the Council, especially if it is for the purpose of being reprimanded. It brought him no joy to do this, but what’s enough is enough.

Anakin and Ahsoka stand before them and Anakin, at least, takes responsibility and makes him proud. But Ahsoka… 

The Council can’t properly discipline them without grounding them for longer and they can’t afford to have anyone be grounded for however long it will take to get it through their heads that they cannot behave like this. Their numbers are too thin as it is.

How many men will they loose with them in charge? How many will they loose with them away from the battlefield?

He hates playing the numbers game. There is no good option here. He will chew them out at the first opportunity, for all the good it will do.

He doesn’t need to reach out to the other Council members to know that they feel the same. They have discussed this at length beforehand.

They are simply too few. Compromises that should never be made must be made.

Anakin should not have been made a Knight yet, and he will never be made a Master, and Ashoka should have been his second Padawan not Anakin’s first.

He knows, with a bone deep certainty, that she will never be a Knight.

*

“Ahsoka,” he calls a few hours later, when he spots her alone in the hallway.

She turns around, eyes big, hesitant. “Master.” She sounds unsure and he realizes that he still has his Council face on, severe and guarded.

He keeps it on, “I’d like a word with you, Padawan.”

She nods, and follows meekly when he leads them to one of the smaller gardens. He wants the privacy, but doesn’t want to box her in. This is not an attack.

They run into Anakin on the way there. He stops them, concerned, “What’s going on?”

“I’m going to have a talk with Padawan Tano.” Obi-Wan answers, formal and Anakin gets a pinched look on his face, unhappy. He has been on the receiving end of Obi-Wan’s talks before.

“I have been wondering why the Council let go of some things so easily.”

“We didn’t.”

“I see that.” He sighs. Looks at Ahsoka. “It will be fine, Snips.” He gives her an encouraging smile, “I’ll take you to Dex’s for dinner, afterwards.” he consoles and leaves, giving her shoulder a parting squeeze. He feels her eyes on his back and struggles not to turn back.

*

When Obi-Wan and Ahsoka arrive at the garden, it’s empty. He marks it as occupied when they go in. This garden has been used for this exact purpose for decades, maybe centuries. There’s a reason it’s known as the _Chatroom_ in the Temple.

“We all make mistakes,” he begins, sounding almost like a stranger, his presence in the Force tightly controlled, “and you are so very young. We don’t enjoy sending young Padawans to war, Ahsoka. We try to prepare you as best as we can before we do, but we know it’s not truly enough.” He admits, his face purposefully blank. “Due to your age, your role is strictly defined, and you overstepped those bounds. Part of it is on your Master, for entrusting you with more than he should have before you were ready, and part of it is on you, for disobeying direct orders.”

She opens her mouth to speak and he gives her a quelling look. “I do not want to hear any more of that _I wasn’t being disobedient_ _,_ _I_ _forgot_ nonsense. Because that’s what it is, nonsense. What you did was the definition of disobedience and the fact that you refuse to admit it doesn’t inspire me with confidence that you will not do it again.

“I-”

“I can’t rely on you in battle if I can’t trust you to do what you’re told. I can’t trust you with the lives of my men.”

She sucks in a breath, deafeningly loud in the sudden silence of the room.

“I _don’t_ trust you with the lives of my men.” She has never heard Master Obi-Wan sound so cold before.

“Master-”

“Why don’t _you_ trust _me_ to know what I’m doing? That when I give you an order, there’s a reason for it.”

“I do, Master!”

“You don’t. I don’t care how skilled you are, how good at fighting. If I can’t rely on you, it means nothing.”

She flinches, “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, but being sorry is not enough. I’m stripping you of the rank of Commander. You won’t be in charge of men once your suspension is over. Any questions?”

She gulps, “Why- Why didn’t the Council tell me this during the session?”

“Because the Council left the decision to me. I’m in charge of Third Systems Army, and I don’t want you in command position.”

“I- I understand.”

His gaze softens, “This is not forever, Padawan. This is for now.”

She lowers her head, feels her eyes burn.

“You’re free to leave, Padawan.”

She bows and rushes out.

*

“Oh, _Snips_ ,” her Master says, gently, when she stumbles into their rooms, and opens his arms wide. She falls into the hug, sniffling into his robes. “It’s going to be alright, Ahsoka.”

He releases her, but keeps his hands on her shoulders. Looks at her face, and sighs sympathetically.

“Master Obi-Wan was so _disappointed”_ , she whispers hoarsely and her Master gives her a sad smile.

“If it helps,” he starts, “you’re holding up a lot better than I did after my first time in the _Chatroom_.”

She gives him a wide eyed look and he chuckles ruefully.

“I’m glad he didn’t do this before the entire Council,” She buries her face in her hands.

“Oh the Council never unleashes Obi-Wan on someone like this in public.”

“This is actually a thing?”

He shrugs, “Obi-Wan is their secret weapon. He’s capable of guilting even Vos into behaving, and they grew up together.”

She hesitates, “He said I won’t be in charge of men when my suspension is over.”

He studies her face, serious, but unsurprised, “For how long?”

She lowers her eyes and shrugs, her throat tight.

“Ahsoka,” he says and hugs her again, “It’s not forever,”

“...it’s for now,” she continues, mumbling, something loosening inside her chest as her Master chuckles, ruefully. He has obviously heard the words himself before. The reprimand still hurts, but she is surprised by the feeling of belonging those words bring her now. She thinks back to the Chatroom, and when she remembers Master Kenobi, for the first time sees something more than a Council member and her Master’s Master. She sees her _Grandmaster,_ a part of her lineage. 

*

“I was supposed to be your Padawan.” Ahsoka states, _asks_ , a few months later, when they are alone in a training room, practising Jar’Kai. Anakin is not in the Temple.

Ahsoka knows he is with Padme. She doesn’t know if Master Obi-Wan knows.

Her Grandmaster’s face is blank, giving away nothing.

“I remember when I met you. You thought I was there for you.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t say a word.

“Master?”

He reaches out a hand and gently takes a hold of her Padawan braid. Touches each bead. Releases it. “It’s late,” he says, “We are departing early tomorrow.”

“Master-”

“Go to sleep, Ahsoka.”

* * *

Obi-Wan wishes he knew what Palpatine was filling Anakin’s head with, because whenever he comes back from meeting him he acts more like a petulant teenager than a Jedi Knight.

“I am no longer your Padawan!” Anakin bites out, angry, after Obi-Wan has had to reprimand him again, for rash and reckless actions, for not following orders.

“Being a Knight doesn’t mean that you have learned all there is to learn, it just means that you are ready to learn without constant supervision.” He replies, with forced calm and reminds himself that he is not a Padawan with anger issues anymore. _Force, it’s been a long day._

“And yet, you still supervise my every move!”

“I am a member of the Council, I supervise everyone’s moves.” You’re not special, he doesn’t say.

“Do you constantly reprimand everyone?!”

“They don’t constantly give me a reason to.”

“Ah yes, everyone else is a perfect Jedi, cold hearted, unfeeling _sleemos-_ ”

“ _Enough_.” He bites out, a command, frost in his voice, the way it goes when he wants to shout and hit something, but doesn’t let himself. Has learned not to let himself. It’s not a voice he uses often, and almost always it’s Anakin who brings it out.

Anakin stills, goes small, and Obi-Wan releases his anger and wonders, again, who had owned Anakin before Watto, before Gardulla. Who taught him to submit. Whose anger was as cold as Obi-Wan’s as they did.

Anakin shoots him a betrayed, angry look when he catches himself falling back on old behaviours. Obi-Wan watches as shame colors his cheeks. Anakin constantly challenges him and part of Obi-Wan despairs, but a part of him is pleased that his Padawan feels safe enough to do so. He didn’t, when he first became a Padawan.

He softens his tone, “You know that’s not true. We teach the necessity of controlling ones self. We must. With our abilities it would be catastrophic not to. That doesn’t mean we don’t feel.”

Anakin scoffs, but it’s a half-hearted thing. “I knew I could do it.”

“I know you did.”

“I knew I could save them.”

“You risked too much. You didn’t know the entire plan-”

“And whose fault is that?”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, “You will not always be told the full plan. No.” He shakes his head at Anakin when he looks like he is going to interrupt, “You _will not_ always have all the details. The Council juggles multiple battles at the same time. A single battle is not fought in isolation, it affects others. There is a chain of command for a reason. We were lucky, it ended well this time. It will not end well every time. ”

Anakin glares, petulantly.

“You don’t trust the Council.” Obi-Wan observes.

Anakin stays quiet.

 _You don’t trust_ me, he keeps to himself, because it hurts too much.


	3. Chapter 2

Senator Amidala shoots a smile at Anakin, small and loving and Anakin smiles back, utterly besotted. They think they are discreet.

Obi-Wan gives Anakin a look and he quickly schools his expression into something neutral. Jedi are not forbidden from having relationships, of course, but duty comes first. Obi-Wan worries. Anakin doesn’t love like a Jedi, he loves like a slaver, possessive and selfish and egotistic, not that Obi-Wan would ever tell him that. Slavery is a sore topic for Anakin, understandably, and being compared to a slaver in any way is not something that he will react well to. It’s not something he would ever forgive.

Those are not the wounds Obi-Wan is willing to inflict on his former Padawan anyway. Even thinking the thought feels like a betrayal.

He tries to teach Anakin about attachment, again and again, and each time he fails.

_You care so much, my Padawan, you care so much, and you always think that no one else cares enough._

*

Padme tries to hide it, but when she thinks no one sees, she looks at Anakin as if he is something beautiful and precious, like he _takes her breath away_.

The Force wails, and for a moment Obi-Wan feels phantom fingers, around a throat, not his own.

* 

“It’s not shameful to leave the Order,” he says and Anakin tenses.

They never address the issue of Padme directly. Perhaps that is a mistake. He does not know. His former Padawan is a grown man, capable of making his own choices. Unless the relationship becomes detrimental to him performing his duty, it is not Obi-Wan’s place to interfere. The few incidents they’ve had so far were relatively minor. If it were peacetime he would have been censured more seriously, but wartime permits certain allowances. The Jedi are not machines. Hence why he’s raising the topic as a friend and not as a Council member.

Anakin doesn’t respond, just glares at nothing, his face turned away.

“We are an Order, not slavers. If one disagrees with our culture, one is free to leave.” But Anakin likes being a Jedi, or at least likes some things about being a Jedi. He wants to have cake and eat it too.

“I know that, Master.” He sounds sure, like he understands, and pained, like it hurts. Obi-Wan has loved before, loves still. He sympathises. Most of all, Obi-Wan trusts Anakin. Trusts him to know how much he can push something before it breaks. Before he goes too far.

* * *

He gets a frantic call from one of the captains.

“Our Jedi is barely responding,” the clone says, without introducing himself, and Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the possessive _our_. It’s always easy to tell if the clones like the Jedi they end up assigned to. “Our medic can’t tell what’s wrong with her.”

“What happened?”

“It was a trap. Our numbers were halved in the initial blast. She just collapsed. But she wasn’t hit, General Kenobi! She just collapsed. She wasn’t hit. There’s not a scratch on her.”

Dread pools in his belly. He knows what this is. “I’m on my way.”

He gets there on time. He reaches into her mind and shields it for her. Luckily, she’s lucid enough to rebuild her own shield once the shock passes.

Her troops wait in front of the door, anxious and worried and he leads them away from the room and sits them down. “She’ll be fine, in a few days.”

“But what happened?” Bursts one of them, impatient.

Obi-Wan strokes his beard, gathering the words, “Jedi are empaths.” He says, finally.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“We can feel what others are feeling, their general state of being; impressions left in places where emotionally charged situations happened. When someone dies.”

The troopers watch him wide eyes.

“We can shield our minds, we learn how to as younglings. But being present when a lot of people die, suddenly, especially if we are close to them… it’s hard to shield against that. She felt their death, and the shock made her mind shut down.”

“Can that kill a Jedi?”

The fates of those two Knights from the beginning of the war are not well known in the GAR, Obi-Wan realizes. “Not kill, exactly, not directly. But if the mind irreparably brakes, the body tends to follow.”

The captain nods in understanding, “How do we treat her?”

“She will recover with time. Just let her meditate. I’m putting her off duty for the next couple of days.”

“And what about preventing it from happening again? What can we do?”

“Nothing.”

“Sir?”

“There’s nothing you can do. She will either learn to build better shields, or she will not.” He hesitates, “She can leave the Order to avoid fighting a war, or she can stay and adapt. Or die.” He sighs, “The Jedi were not built for war. We are good at it, but we were not built for it.”

“Not like we are.” One of the gathered troopers says, not angry or sad, just stating a fact.

Stating it proudly.

Obi-Wan gives him a careful look, “You have been built for war, but that doesn’t mean that you are meant for it.”

“That doesn’t make any karking sense!” one of the men shouts and the others throw Obi-Wan panicked glances and several voices ring out simultaneously,

_“Dammit, Freeze”_

_“Shut up!”_

_“You idiot.”_

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and they quiet down, “You are living, sentient beings and you deserve so much more than what we are able to give you. We don’t want you to fight this war any more than we want to fight it ourselves.”

They watch him in stunned silence. This is not something that should have been a surprise to them. It’s not right.

“Who is _we_ , General?” One trooper asks, giving him a scrutinising look, and Obi-Wan takes note of him. That one bears watching. Might be suitable for some specialised training, if he lives long enough to get it.

“The Jedi,” he admits, because he can’t lie and say the Republic. The Republic doesn’t seem to care how many clones die in it’s name. How many Jedi.

*

The first time Obi-Wan uses the Force in front of other people to crumple couple of droids he feels horror and fear from the non clones and can practically hear the unspoken realization: _he can do that with flesh._

It’s true. He can. The Jedi don’t do that, but they can. Flesh is so much softer than metal.

His clone troopers are appreciative and accepting. They were born and bred for war and destruction, he’s not surprised that none of them shy away from him after that, like most natural borns do.

None of them follow his every move with wide, terrified eyes, none of them flinch away in fear when he raises an arm, their souls quivering in fear, sending waves of it to him in the Force.

He cuts a line of destruction through the enemy troops, his lightsaber swinging, leading the way, and his men follow.

*

“They slotted in like a missing piece,” he confesses to Mace one night, after too many glasses of Corellian whiskey, confused and slightly ashamed. The clones are soldiers and the Jedi are peacekeepers and yet. And yet. The Jedi are more than peacekeepers and the clones are more than soldiers, he knows, but still. Fighting should be the last option. He hates the war, but the fighting? He relishes it.

He must have spoken his thoughts aloud because Mace hmms and says, “We train to use weapons from the moment we are old enough to hold them. Fighting is a part of who we are.”

“Still.”

“Still.” Mace agrees. “They were made for us, is it really so surprising that they fit in?”

He shakes his head in denial, the room spinning, the image lagging and blurring slightly as his alcohol addled brain struggles to process, “No one should be made for another.”

“I agree, but that’s another matter. They are here, they already exist. They are ours to care for, as much as we are able to.”

Obi-Wan scoffs, “ _as much as we are able to._ We’re not able to do much.”

Mace sighs and takes a gulp of his pink drink, using one of his fingers to keep the cocktail umbrella to the side.

Obi-Wan eyes it jealously. He wants one but they don’t really go with whiskey. Mace catches his look, plucks a little umbrella from the box behind him with a long suffering sigh and drops it into Obi-Wan’s glass.

Obi-Wan giggles as he pushes it around. Good man, Mace, good man.

“I’m glad you think so,” Mace says, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Palpatine smiles his smarmy politician’s smile and insists they perform their next mission a certain way, and it’s stupid, it’s stupid, there are better ways, but the man is in charge. So they do.

Mace grumbles and goes on another rant about the Zillo beast. _Remember when we had to kill a sentient, the last of its kind, because Palpatine wouldn’t listen?_

_“He’s done worse things,” Shaak reminds._

_“Yes, he has. But hasn’t the Zillo beast shown us just how much he_ doesn’t _value life? He’s no good,”_ Mace says and no one can disagree.

Well, Anakin would, if he could hear them. But Anakin’s not on the Council.

*

Obi-Wan is sent to help two planets negotiate ceasefire, alone, because people get antsy when he brings an army with him and he doesn’t have a Padawan because Master Yoda likes to meddle. Obi-Wan’s not bitter.

“Master Jedi,” he is greeted by a massive humanoid with the squeakiest voice he has ever heard, “we are grateful for your assistance.”

_Sure you are_ , he thinks, sarcastically, as the Force rings with the lie. They are not grateful for help, they feel entitled to it. “The Jedi are happy to help,” he says, his sabacc face on, and performs the complicated greeting native to that species involving waving, foot tapping and hooting.

The Representative performs the answering greeting, surprised, but quietly pleased and Obi-Wan squashes his annoyance. Did they think he was an amateur? He’s more than a laser-sword wielding demon, as they refer to him on this particular planet. He’s more than a fighter, more than a General. He’s a Jedi.

He’s a Jedi.

*

_I’m sorry,_ Obi-Wan whispers, the sound deafeningly loud in the complete silence of the night, after one particularly hard battle where most died and no one left alive is unhurt and Cody is nursing a broken arm, one of his eyes bloodshot and the other swollen shut.

The men don’t respond, holding their breath, and Cody sighs softly, closes the bloodshot eye and bows his head, shoulders sagging, curling in on himself.

Obi-Wan gets up and hobbles away into the woods, hugging his ribs with his right arm, grunting in pain, softly. Going to lick at his wounds in solitude and give them space to mourn.

Cody has no strength to look at him leave. Has no strength to say _I know_ or _stay._

Doesn’t know how to say: _If it weren’t the Jedi leading us, it would be someone else. Someone who didn’t care, who wouldn’t see us as men. If you hadn’t been here, we would_ all _be dead._

Cody thinks of his brothers, of Keeli, dying on the same field, next to his Jedi, General Di and thinks _I know you don’t think we are worth less than you, you think we are worth the same. But you don’t value your own life as much as you should._

_That is sad and it_ hurts, _General_ , it hurts.

*

“We are bred to serve others.” His medic tells Obi-Wan hours later, like a confession, when he is finally free to look at non life threatening injuries, and the first, early rays of sun are painting the sky pink. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, just frowns lightly, exhausted and not sure where the conversation is going. He knows that. He _hates_ that.

Dealer shakes his head, frustrated and frowns, trying to find the right words, but- “We are bred to serve others,” he repeats and glances at him, and Obi-Wan hears it now, hears that the _we_ doesn’t stand just for clones, but for him, for the Jedi, as well. “You have more freedom than we do,” he continues, “my batch-mate’s Jedi left the Order. No one’s heard from him since.”

Obi-Wan knows whom he is referring to. There have been a few who left the Order since the war started. Some Jedi can’t handle the war, some refuse to. It hurts. Individuals can leave, but the Order as a whole cannot. Not without having the entire Republic turn on them. And sure, the Jedi are powerful enough to subjugate the entire Senate if need be, but they wouldn’t still be Jedi if they did.

“It _means_ something that you choose to stay when you have the right to leave.” Dealer wraps his ribs with sure, steady hands and doesn’t meet his eyes when he says: “You are allowed to grieve with us, _alor_.”

Not all the clones are fluent in Mando’a, but there are some words that are known to all, precious. The language of the clones is an interesting thing, a mix of Basic and Mando’a, with some Kaminoan and hand signals thrown in; color on their armour and ink on their skin.

“You don’t need to hide in the woods.”

The words hit him, in his soft, exposed underbelly. The invitation stings, in a good, soul cleansing way. He looks around at the men, and they are all appearing to be busy and carefully avoiding his gaze, cleaning weapons like Waxer or slowly chewing on a ration bar like Boil. Cody is leaning against a tree, looking at a pad but in the Force they are all focused on him and Dealer, waiting, expectant. The words get chocked off in his throat so he nods, grateful and Dealer pats his uninjured shoulder in acknowledgement and leaves. The pressure in the Force lessens as the men refocus on whatever they were doing before, still grieving and tired to his Force senses, but softly pleased.

It’s the first and last time any of his men call him _alor_ , but he recognizes the tone later, in the way they pronounce _General_ and he doesn’t deserve them. He doesn’t deserve them.

*

A battle goes wrong, the droids are too numerous and there shouldn’t have been that many of them there. Their intelligence was wrong. It was wrong. It feels almost like Dooku knew they would be there, like he knew their plans, but he couldn’t have.

Obi-Wan is too late with reinforcements and Anakin looses too many men.

They meet in the hangar. Anakin stumbles toward him, little boy lost, and reaches out with his hand, with the Force, and Obi-Wan drags him away from everyone and into the first empty room he can find. He pulls him down with him as he sits down on the floor, grabs the back of his neck and tugs him close, until their foreheads are touching.

“Breathe.” he says and breathes deeply; he squeezes Anakin’s neck gently when he doesn’t follow.

Anakin takes a deep, ragged breath and shudders, his Force presence reaching out, and Obi-Wan envelops it with his own, keeps it safe, hugs in a way a Jedi hugs.

“Breathe, Padawan.”

“Not a Padawan anymore,” Anakin mumbles, but it lacks any heat. _You’ll always be my Padawan_ , Obi-Wan doesn’t say.

They stay that way until Anakin slumps, and tucks his head under Obi-Wan’s chin, exhausted. 

He gives him a few minutes, and wishes he could give him more, “Can you move?” He asks, gently, and Anakin, his brave, brave Padawan, makes an aborted sound before taking a deep breath and nodding.

They get up and he fusses with Anakin’s robes, straightens this and that, brushes off some barely visible dirt and Anakin lets him, the way he hasn’t in a while.

“Game face on?” He glances at Anakin’s incredibly young face and swallows his grief. Force, he was still a Padawan when he was Anakin’s age.

“Yeah,” Anakin confirms and heads for the door. He opens them and Rex is there, standing next to the door, facing the opposite wall. He blinks at his Captain, confused, “Rex?”

Rex hesitates, not sure how to explain that he was standing guard so they wouldn’t be interrupted, and Obi-Wan jumps in before things can get awkward, “Gentlemen, the Council is waiting for a report.” He nudges Anakin to get him moving, and Rex follows after them, breathing a sigh of relief.

He’ll tell Anakin later. He doesn’t want to embarrass the good captain, or make him think he did something wrong, or against the regs. The men get terribly anxious when anyone even suggests they may not be good soldiers. 

*

He’s on Coruscant again, in another meeting, and this is all his life is now, just a series of meetings and battles and nothing else in between.

“The Senate has made a new request and the Chancellor-”

_What have I done to deserve this_ , he thinks as he tunes out Mace droning on about one or the other Council matter. _I should have stayed on Mandalore with Satine. I could have embraced the life of a kept man._ He nods to himself, _I was young, and I cleaned up well enough to be a respectable arm candy. I could have found some hobbies, I’m sure of it. We could have resolved the issue of pacifism. Somehow._ He grimaces. _Or not._

“Master Kenobi?”

Sigh. _Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m no longer young enough to be arm candy._

“Is he daydreaming about being a kept man on Mandalore again?” Plo asks and Obi-Wan blinks and then blushes and shifts in his seat guiltily, trying to put himself in a more respectable position than the sprawl he was in.

“Good kept man Obi-Wan would have made, hmm hmm, but other matters to discuss we have.”

“He would have died of boredom,” Shaak Ti interjects her mouth quirking in a small smile, and Obi-Wan looks at Mace hoping he would bring back the order to the council session but his friend just meets his eyes and smirks. _This is what you get for not paying attention when I was speaking_ , his face says.

Obi-Wan regrets his life choices.

*

They collect their dead when they can and leave them behind when they can’t.

Many Jedi never get their pyre and many clones rot inside their armour, left somewhere on a world where nobody cares about them. Sometimes the injured are left behind as well, when going back for them would mean losing more lives. Some die by the hands of angry locals, feral animals or myriad of other causes. Some die of untreated wounds.

Some get better and never find their way back.

Some are not injured at all when they choose to stay.

Cody marks those as dead as well and hands the list to his General, straight faced as he looks him in the eyes and _lies_.

Obi-Wan accepts the pad with steady fingers, looks over the list of names, knows whose lights he felt snuffed out and whose are still shining; knows all his commander’s tells; he _knows_.

Cody is still as a statue, a bit hopeful but mostly resigned to his fate and the consequences for lying to his commanding officer and helping others desert. Everyone dies. He will just die sooner than his brothers.

But his General just hands him back the pad, his eyes sad and gentle, before he turns back to the view-screen and doesn’t say a word.

Cody’s hand shakes when he takes the pad back, a small tremor that refuses to stop, and he stares at General Kenobi’s profile confusedly. _But_. _But the General_ knows _,_ he thinks and: _he’s not-_

_The punishment is not coming,_ he realizes _,_ and then something inside him shakes and shifts and _oh,_ there’s nowhere this man can lead he won’t follow.

He takes a step back, dazed, and thinks, _is this what it feels like when you_ give _your loyalty to someone?_

*

They meet up with Plo and his men, for a joint mission, and afterwards Obi-Wan is gathering his pack, quietly talking with Plo, preparing to go back to ship and lift off when he overhears a few of his men talking with their brothers from 104th.

“General Plo mowed through fifty droids before we even finished disembarking” Comet boasts, proudly.

“Well, _our_ General moved half a mountain with his _mind_.” Reed shoots back, and it wasn’t half a mountain, it was a few big boulders and Obi-Wan feels his face redden slightly but there’s something about that _our General_ that squeezes at his heart and hurts. Something that makes him promise to himself again and again that he will keep as many of them alive as he can.

He looks at Plo to find him looking back, his presence in the Force gentle and understanding and _knowing_. 

“We do what we can, Obi-Wan.” He says gravely, knowing it’s not enough.

They have sent men to their deaths today. They will do it tomorrow as well.

*

Umbara is taken. A ship arrives from the airbase carrying Krell’s body and all the men accompanying it tell him is that he had admitted to being a separatist. He uncovers the body and sees a single shot in the back, made by a blaster.

Tup and Fives are straight-faced, standing at attention, nervous and apprehensive, but brave and Obi-Wan doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. Pong was not someone he had worked closely with before, or someone he knew well, but-

“Captain Rex will be here shortly, to give you the report.”

He could order them to tell him more, but they look strangely fragile, shaken, so he doesn’t.

“Very well,” he says and dismisses them and they practically run away.

He puts the cover back over the body and goes to read reports while he waits for Rex.

He finds a room, knowing this would require privacy.

He’s barely finished with a few reports when there’s a knock on the open door and Rex enters, closing it behind him.

*

He stands at attention, “General.” He wishes Geneal Skywalker was here. Or Cody.

“At ease, Captain Rex, we’ll start in a few minutes, as soon as Commander Cody gets here.”

Rex is not sure what brings him more relief, the fact that his brother will be here, or that the General called him by his name. General Kenobi has never used his number, and Rex doesn’t think he ever will, but it still makes something in him ease. He takes his bucket off and Kenobi gives him a long, searching look.

He doesn’t know what’s showing on his face, or what the General can sense in the Force. He hopes he doesn’t see his hand shaking, but then Kenobi’s eyes dart down and he knows it’s a futile hope.

Cody chooses that moment to enter and he gives a nod to Rex and settles on Kenobi’s right. His brother looks at him more closely and frowns, obviously worried. Rex waits for the General to give the go ahead, takes a deep breath, focuses on a spot somewhere over the General’s shoulder and starts talking.

His brother becomes more and more quietly furious as the story progresses. Rex doesn’t look at him, but he can feel it, can hear the armour creaking as Cody clenches his fists.

When he’s done, he looks at General Kenobi and he can’t read him. Can’t read him at all.

He feels panic, because what if- what if the General _doesn’t_ believe him- He glances at Cody-

“Captain Rex,” the General starts, and Rex has to look at him. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t think he can handle what he’ll see there, but he has no choice. “Captain Rex,” he repeats and for a moment Rex sees it, sees the horror and the pain, sees _wrath,_ in Kenobi’s eyes and the air is heavy, pressing down, and any moment now something is going to blow, he’s seen it before, with his own General, something is going to _blow_.

A second passes, charged, and then Kenobi takes a deep breath and let’s it go and the pressure is gone, and nothing blows.

Rex is confused, but a glance at Cody doesn’t reveal anything unusual, this is just how things go with Kenobi then, and oh, it takes him a moment, _Oh. This is the difference between a Jedi Knight and a Jedi Master._ He will never admit it to anyone, especially General Skywalker, but the lack of an outburst is nice.

“This should have never happened,” Kenobi says, “I’m sorry.” And it doesn’t sound empty, it sounds like he means it. Rex doesn’t know what to do with it. He knows. He has worked with many Jedi before, and none of them were like Krell. Krell was an exception.

Krell was well known for loosing a lot of men. At least among the brothers. The Jedi missed it. How could they have missed it? The General must feel the resentment curl in his gut, because something in his eyes shutters. He doesn’t flinch away, his sabacc face is too good for that, and the tell is so minuscule that for a moment Rex is sure he has imagined it, if not for Cody shifting slightly in the background. Cody knows his General better than anyone, and Rex knows Cody.

Rex looks at Kenobi then, really looks at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and greys creeping in on his temples. His appearance is as neat as ever, and Rex has no idea when he has the time to style his hair, but his put-togetherness hides the gauntness of his face well.

It’s easy to forget sometimes that the Jedi are few. Compared to the number of clones, compared to the number of sentient beings in the Republic, in galaxy, they are too few. They are scarily powerful, but they are few.

Rex lowers his eyes and remembers Slick.

“You never expect a brother to be a traitor.” He says, without meaning to and the General responds, softly, sadly,

“No, we never do.”

*

Cody hands him the list of the missing men and Obi-Wan scans it, adds Dogma’s name to it and looks at Cody significantly before handing it back.

Cody sees the change, his face impassive as he says _Yes, Sir_ , and turns the pad off.

*

Cody will _die_ for his General. 

* * *

Obi-Wan and Rex are slaves, on Kadavo, making their escape and Agruss, their master, is sitting on his chair, mocking and unafraid, _a Jedi won’t kill an unarmed man,_ he says and he is wrong because Obi-Wan _would_ kill an unarmed man, if he had it coming.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have to, because Rex does it for him.

He doesn’t delude himself that he didn’t murder his slaver. It’s a child’s logic to think that just because it wasn’t his hand that dealt the killing blow he is not the one responsible. It was his nod that sealed the slaver’s fate, his order that Rex followed.

Something in him rumbles, fierce and pleased. His heart thumps inside his ribcage, a beast, constantly knocking to remind him it’s there.

*

They are picked up by a ship, they give their report and are looked at by a medic. They meet up with Anakin’s ship first and he, Ahsoka and Rex leave after short goodbyes.

Plo meditates with him after, and his solid and calm presence helps him settle down. It’s hard to find time for proper meditation. It’s rare to have another to have a joint meditation with. He misses the peacetime, when he could go to the Temple and rest. He’s barely ever on Coruscant. Barely anyone is.

The Force whispers a warning, elusive and utterly useless. The Force whispers of danger constantly.

He steps back onto his ship a few hours later and the sight of his men, armour painted yellow, loosens the last of the tension from his shoulders and he finally relaxes.

Cody is waiting for him when he disembarks, greats him with a curt _General_ and falls into step with him as they walk towards the heart of the ship, giving him his report and subtly scanning for injuries.

_This is my fortress,_ he thinks and quickly banishes the thought. He is not a warlord of old.

(Sometimes, his men look at him like he is. Mandalorians. Every single one of them. War makes them come alive like nothing else does.)

_This is home_ , he thinks next, and wonders when a ship started feeling more like a home than the temple.

*

Their next mission was supposed to be helping a planet being bombarded by the Separatists. They were intercepted and by the time they got to their destination it was…well, not too late for the planet, but too late for some.

The King is devastated when he meets them. Regal in his dress, in his bearing, but a broken person in all the ways that matter. He has lost a daughter in the attack, his most precious, so very loved daughter and his grief is a palpable thing.

The city around him is sombre, but mostly intact. The Separatists dropped quite a few bombs, but not many on the capital. The losses were significant, but it could have been a lot worse. Better as well, if the planet had an army of it’s own, or proper planetary defences, but it doesn’t.

“You are late,” the King speaks and the accusation rings clear.

Obi-Wan senses the man’s pain and loss, so he keeps calm when he responds, “Apologies. We were attacked on the way here.”

“That would explain a short delay, but this was not a short delay, was it?” the King’s voice drips venom, his retinue glaring in the background, the collective negativity is potent and heavy on Obi-Wan’s shields. He is so very tired.

The King’s lip twists, “What are the Jedi even good for? You were supposed to protect us, and you failed. My people are dead because of you.” He spits at their feet. An insult in most cultures, but an especially severe one in this one. A breakage of bonds. In this case, the breakage of the agreement between the Jedi and the people of this planet.

He can still salvage this, he knows. He’s familiar with their customs, and can talk them out of this. The insult to the Jedi can be forgiven. It often is. Their goal is to keep peace. They are used to turning the other cheek. The Separatists will come back, and the planet will be ravaged without protection. Lives will be lost. Another foothold of the Republic will be lost as well. He doesn’t like it, but he has a duty.

“The fleet was destroyed,” he explains, and the King seems to get an inkling of the severity of the attack that had prevented them from giving them aid, “many lives were lost.” He can save the situation, he’s sure of it.

“Clone lives.” The King waves his hand, dismissively, “you can grow more, no? That’s what our taxes are for.”

Cody flinches next to him and Obi-Wan feels calm, the calmest he’s ever been. It’s not the first time they hear something like this, and regretfully, probably not the last. But their recent losses were tremendous and the wounds are still raw. He has lost count of how many have died. So many, that their death had felt like a wave in the Force, a wave that drowns. Perhaps if he had had the time to meditate he would have reacted more serenely. If he had had the time to deal with the loss, to bolster his shields, to protect his mind against the grief of the survivors- He can feel his eyes burn. He doesn’t remember unshed tears stinging this much, but it’s been so long since he’s cried.

Still, he is calm. The King pales at the look on his face and steps back, and Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why. He is calm.

-eral,” his thinks his commander calls, through a haze, urgent, but Obi-Wan cannot hear him. Because he is calm.

The King backs away another step, his eyes wide and afraid, and Obi-Wan takes a step towards him, closes the distance between them and spits at his feet, confirming the breakage of bonds.

He meets the King’s eyes, sees disbelief and terror in them, because no matter what he initiated, the King never really believed that Obi-Wan would finish the ritual.

_When the droids come,_ Obi-Wan thinks calmly, _you can burn._

He is calm when he turns around and leaves, ignoring the people calling him back. He is calm when he reports to the Council that if they want a new agreement to be made they will have to send somebody else.

“Letting your emotions rule you, you are,” Master Yoda says, not judgemental, just frank.

“I am calm,” he answers and Master Yoda glances at Cody , standing by his side and something passes between them, but Obi-Wan doesn’t know what.

They end the call soon after and they go into hyperspace and he checks a few reports. The bridge is a bit too quiet and everyone is well-behaved, too well-behaved and he is a bit confused, but Cody is a steady presence next to him, unconcerned, so he figures it’s fine, whatever it is.

They go to his office to discuss a few troopers and whether they should be placed in advanced training. There’s an upcoming battle they haven’t finished strategizing as well. They take a break to eat and just before he takes a bite something shifts. His ears pop, as if the pressure has changed, and the sound rushes back in. He hadn’t even realized how muted everything was, until it wasn’t anymore and he blinks, once, twice and- “ _Force_ ,”he says, “I spit back.” he looks at Cody, who slumps in relief and says, tiredly, “That you did, General, that you did.”

He buries his head in his hands, hides for a minute or two, and his Commander, bless him, lets him.

“The Council will sort it out,” Cody consoles, once Obi-Wan lifts his head.

Obi-Wan feels guilty for creating more work for his fellow Councillors, but he can’t seem to find it in himself to regret what he did.

Cody gives him a long, assessing look, “I will make sure no one disturbs you for a couple of hours,” he says and then gets up to leave.

“What? Why?” Obi-Wan asks, a bit wrong-footed and confused. There’s so much to do.

“You missed your post mission meditation, Sir.” he says pointedly and Obi-Wan is grateful, so incredibly grateful for his Commander.

*

Meditaion helps. He sighs. He’ll need to call the Council. Again.

He hates this. He wishes he could just grab all the clones and all the Jedi and find a hospitable planet somewhere in the uncharted territories and just start fresh. Let the people of Republic die for their own freedom. Let them sort out their own mess.

*

He’s walking with Anakin through the ship, on their way to get some food, after a joint mission in which they ran into Ventress, “You have to stop flirting with the enemy, Obi-Wan.” Anakin tells him, for the hundredth time and out of the corner of his eye he spots a shiny whipping his head around, shocked. 

Obi-Wan ignores him, the poor trooper will get used to it, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _Hello, my dear, you’re looking splendid today?_ Remember saying that? To _Ventress_. As she was about to cut your head off?”

There’s clanking of armour behind them. The poor trooper must have tripped. Ah, shinies. Can’t not love them.

“Doesn’t sound familiar, I’m afraid.”

“I’m serious, Obi-Wan! Ahsoka is picking up your bad habits!”

“Impossible. I have no bad habits.”

*

Satine dies.

*

Ahsoka is gone, trying to find her own way and he is glad. She has a chance to get away from the fighting, away from the war. He hopes she finds whatever she is looking for.

Her being gone means he has one less problem to deal with, if he’s being honest. Ahsoka may be effective, but she is unruly, much like her Master. She is a problem child, for all that she is a beloved one.

“You think you would have done a better job training her?” Plo asks, evenly, like he isn’t ready to jump into her defence, like he doesn’t think she turned out just fine.

“I think it doesn’t matter.”

“She was trained by _your_ Padawan.” Plo says, implying that if he believes she’s been trained wrong, it’s his own fault, the fault of his teachings. Anakin learned from him, after all.

Obi-Wan is aware that there are plenty of things he could have done better with Anakin. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. And he is not blind to his Padawan’s faults, but he has faith in him, faith he doesn’t have in Ahsoka. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t trained her and raised her and gone through so much with her. Maybe because she hasn’t given him enough reason to.

“You voted in favour of giving her a chance to come back to the Order, but you weren’t happy about it. We did her wrong. She was in a tough spot, and we didn’t help.”

“Did she let us? She ran. She didn’t trust us first, and then she was surprised that we didn’t trust her in return. She did not deal with this like a Jedi.”

Plo disagrees, but doesn’t press, for the moment, “Why vote to let her back in, then?”

“Because she is a child, and capable of learning. Because we should have done more, but we couldn’t. But I’m glad she chose not to come back, Plo. Her path lies elsewhere.”

Plo crosses his arms, disagreeing. “Ahsoka made a good Jedi. She would have made a wonderful Knight when the time came. She is skilled, has a good head on her shoulders and a kind heart.”

“I’m not denying that. But not everyone is meant to be a Jedi.”

“And Skywalker is?”

“I keep waiting for him to leave the Order,” Obi-Wan confesses, “He loves the Senator, and he’s the type to give all of himself to someone he loves.” He doesn’t need to specify which Senator. It’s the worst kept secret among the Jedi. “I think he’s waiting for the war to end.”

Plo inclines his head in agreement. When it comes to Anakin, at least. “I think you are wrong about Ahsoka, my friend. She is a Jedi, part of the Order or not.”

“Perhaps,” he allows.

“You were once a troubled younglilng yourself. One who has also left the Order. And now you are a Council member.”

“Only because we lost so many that there was a limited number of people who could fill the spot, but I get your point.”

“That’s not-”

“I know she has potential,” he interrupts, rudely, because there are some things he is not ready to talk about, “I wouldn’t have chosen her to be my Padawan if I didn’t believe that.” He falls silent. It still stings that they stole her from him.

Plo sighs, aware.

“The future is always in motion. She could have been a Knight, now she never will be.”

Plo looks away, because the Force rings with the truth.

“She doesn’t have to be a Jedi to be good, to _do_ good.”

*

The Chancellor interferes in the internal matters of the Order and, not for the first time, they are powerless to stop him.

Anakin seems pleased, at first, until he is told he will not be made a Master, just so he could sit on the Council.

The nerve of him. Sometimes he surprises Obi-Wan, and not in a good way.

He seems to have a problem with being asked to spy on the Chancellor, and it may not be fair to ask that of him, but his reaction hurts.

He doesn’t seem to have a problem with spying on the Council. Why is it okay to do it, if it’s the Chancellor who asks? It occurs Obi-Wan that perhaps Anakin hasn’t realized that’s what Palpatine has asked him to do. That’s concerning, if it’s true. 

Anakin is brash and doesn’t have a head for politics, for all his brilliance, but he is a good man.

He is a good man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep getting ideas on which parts I can extend, but no. I refuse to do it. It's written, finished, and I'm not going to let myself do anything but edit a word or two. Now I just need to convince myself that turning this into a series is not a good idea. So what if I think that How to lead a war would be a good title for the second part, and How to end a war a good title for the third part of the series. It's not happening. I have no time.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Contains art. By me. Did it feel a bit weird to make art for my own fic? Yes, but I'm posting it anyway. This is my first time putting an image inside a chapter on AO3, so I hope I did it correctly.

The war rages on, and after awhile he forgets what it was like to not have clones around.

 _What would I do without you_ , he thinks, fondly and the Force goes quiet for a second, a wordless _you’ll find out_ , ominous, and gone so quickly he is almost sure he imagined it.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” He whispers softly, to himself, but the men have excellent hearing and they all freeze, suddenly alert.

“Damn it, General,” he hears one of them swear, “you had to go and say it.”

*

CC-2224 issues the order to fire at the traitor.

*

Just before he is shot down, the Force _screams_ , not so much in warning but in pain, as more than a million of clones are violated and silenced.

And then the Jedi start dying, so many of them go at the same time and Obi-Wan almost drowns in the waters of Utapau as he struggles to focus on his limbs and _swim_.

He drags himself out and hidden observes his men and does not understand _why_. He reaches out into the screeching Force and looks at his men with his senses but they don’t feel like his men anymore. Cody doesn’t feel like Cody. He doesn’t feel like anyone real. He feels like a droid, more than anything else. He looks deeper, trying to ignore the mounting horror, as he searches with the Force, trying desperately to find his men but for all that he is looking directly at them, he cannot find them.

His men were never free. He has never been able to free them. Never been able to do anything but live or die with them. Try to keep as many of them alive as he can. Or if nothing else, give them enough time to die with a name.

Now he cannot do even that.

He doesn’t know where his men are. The ones in front of him feel blank. They have never felt this blank. Even then, when he had first stepped on Kamino, when he saw the clones for the first time, even then they weren’t blank.

He leaves, his heart heavy.

*

It’s a lovely day on Coruscant. Not too hot and not too cold, with a gentle breeze moving the few scattered clouds across the blue blue sky.

At the heart of it, The Temple burns.

*

Obi-Wan can still smell the smoke when he and Master Yoda arrive.

*

He watches the recording of Anakin slaughtering everyone in their home, watches him lead his men, watches him kneel and he is _grief_ itself, shaped like a human and not a man, not anymore, until Yoda raps him on his knees with his stick and he remembers he has lungs and breathes.

He will think later, _Was life of one woman really worth to you that much?_

_Did you see children, Anakin, or did you imagine they were droids when you cut them down?_

_*_

He defeats Anakin and leaves him in the fires of Mustafar to die.

No one could ever mistake that act for an act of mercy as it was anything but. It was not justice, nor revenge. A punishment, perhaps.

It was-

*

A part of him wonders, occasionally, if Darth Vader ever wakes up from a nightmare unable to chase away the smell of his own flesh burning. A part of him hopes that’s all he can smell, all the time. 

A part of him hopes he dreams of Padme, his beloved, chocking, the lights of his children dimming under his own fist. Hopes there is enough of Anakin left inside of him to wake up screaming.

He examines the emotions, marvels at how _hope_ can be so dark, and he releases it all into the Force.

It comes back, it always does, so he does it again and again and again. He fights to root it all out. It’s going to be a fight he’s going to fight for the rest of his life.

 _Anakin_ , he thinks, _Padawan_ , and loves curls like smoke in his lungs.

*

(Perhaps leaving him in fire was a pyre, for a dead Jedi.)

*

Padme dies and he grieves for a friend but a part of him, a small secret part of him judges her.

 _You loved him more than you loved anyone else_ , he thinks uncharitably, as he sits in a chair next to her cooling body, holding Luke in his arms, _you loved him more than your own children._ Luke makes a soft, sniffling sound and Obi-Wan looks down and brushes a soft thumb over his forehead, so gently, the gentlest he has ever been.

“I wouldn’t judge you so hard if you had chosen to live for them,” he tells her corpse.

He hears a whisper of sound and looks towards the door to see Bail there, watching him, the expression on his face neutral, the child in his arms asleep.

“She was in a lot of pain,” Bail says, eventually.

“She was weak.”

Bail comes closer and sits down in the chair next to him. “Skywalker has always been her weakness. Her blind spot.”

Obi-Wan sighs, “I know.” _He took her breath away_ , he thinks, _he took her breath away._

* * *

 _I should have never taken Anakin as a Padawan_ , he thinks and the Force _grumbles_ , for a lack of better word. He was always going to be yours, it says, never anyone else’s. 

He recoils from it, emerges from his meditation with a start and slams his mental shields up.

*

Holonet news reports the Purge of the Jedi, and not once do they mention the word genocide.

It shakes something loose inside his chest, inside his arms and legs, some strings snapped, left dangling.

He has been to so many worlds, helped so many since his days as a Padawan. Done as Jedi have done for centuries, millennia, helping helping _helping_ , and not one of those worlds rises in their defence, not _one_ of them-

Some help in secret, cowed, and he understands, he _does_ , they have themselves to think about, but he resents, quietly, because the Jedi thought of everyone but themselves, they have sacrificed their bodies and minds and souls, thrown their younglings into the war, for the sake of the Republic that did not deserve them.

The Republic had them die for their war and then had the gall to clap as they burned. The Republic didn’t deserve anything but what it got, the tyrant that leads them now.

 _You’ll have to fight your own battles, fight for your own freedom._ Die _for it, h_ e thinks and in his darkest hour, the night before he hands Luke over to Owen and Beru, that moment between wakefulness and sleep, he doesn’t pity them at all.

But. He is a Jedi. A _Jedi_. A galaxy may have forgotten what that means, but he hasn’t, so he curls his metaphorical fingers around the threads of resentment and yanks them out. The trouble is, there is only so many times you can get rid of something before it becomes too familiar, before it carves a place inside your heart and makes it its home. A hole it can slot into, perfectly, when it inevitably comes back. 

*

Obi-Wan settles on Tatooine after the birth of the Empire. The Force whimpers as soon as he decides to stay after leaving Luke with Lars’s but he doesn’t hear it. It has been screaming ever since the Jedi Purge. It blocks everything else out.

He doesn’t block himself off from it, cannot ever, not unless he uses a Force suppression collar which he never will. It wails at him, even when he’s not meditating. He thinks sometimes that it might be louder than before to compensate for the lack of so many who are not around anymore to hear it.

He doesn’t shy away from the pain the thought brings. He lets himself feel it and then releases it into the Force. It shudders as he does. He wonders how much more he can release into it before it gets too full and stops accepting it.

And if sometimes, from all that noise, he manages to recognize the nudge of the Force to leave the planet, and doesn’t? It’s not that hard to convince himself that he needs to stay to protect Luke.

(It’s easy. Perhaps the easiest thing he has ever done.)

*

It’s not so bad at first. He thinks of it as a mission and keeps busy.

*

An extended mission.

(with no end in sight)

*

There’s no Council to report to. He reaches for his comm; reaches into the Force, before he remembers.

*

He hurts himself in a stupid way and doesn’t clean the wound properly because he can’t be bothered. It goes bad and he almost let’s the wound take him but the image of Dealer pops into his mind and his medic would have had his head if he saw him now. But Dealer is not Dealer anymore and he wouldn’t care, would probably fire a blaster at his head to speed things up. But the memory shakes him and he deals with his wound, ashamed, and promises never to do something like that again.

No one hears his promise, but he keeps it.

He dreams that he is back on the Negotiator that night, at the beginning of the war. When Anakin is still a Commander, and Dealer doesn’t have a name yet, just a number, and Cody is a new arrival, fresh from Kamino, and Obi-Wan has no idea yet how much he will come to rely on him.

The dream is more a memory than anything else, except for the part where they are all knitting, for some reason. That’s new.

He wakes up and wishes he didn’t.

*

Sometimes his eyes burn, but not with unshed tears. It’s a different burn, like his eyes are going to melt his eye sockets. He blames the sand.

There is never a mirror around when it happens for him to see his own eyes go yellow, around the edges.

*

He mind tricks the bartender into giving him a drink. It doesn’t take much, barely any effort really.

He should feel bad about it.

He’s been watched since he was a child because of his talent in mind manipulation. Watched with worry. And it didn’t help him any when he became Qui-Gon’s apprentice. His late Master used mind tricks quite freely. Obi-Wan has always tried not to use it too often, knowing that people freak out that he finds it easy.

He finishes the drink and gets up to leave. He considers leaving money for the drink anyway but dismisses the thought and walks out of the cantina.

(He comes back fifteen minutes later and leaves money on the table, grumbling.)

He knows, in the back of his mind, that a few credits don’t change the fact that the deed has been done. That he took someone’s mind and bent it to his will. And not to prevent evil from happening, not to save lives, but for his own gain. It doesn’t matter that it was only a few seconds, it doesn’t matter, in the end.

*

The screaming of the Force almost becomes background noise, after awhile.

*

The wind howls on Tatooine, bringing with it a sand storm and Obi-Wan sits in it’s middle, safe in a Force-made bubble and watches it rage.

*

He’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to stay on Tatooine and waste away. The Force keeps nudging him, but his limbs are heavy.

He’d go to a Mind Healer if there were any left alive. _Thanks, Anakin,_ he thinks sarcastically, viciously.

Then he remembers that sweet boy, when they cut his hair into a Padawan cut and they settled together on the floor, Anakin’s back to him, as he made the braid for the first time. Remembers trying to keep his hands from shaking. His own Master had just died and he had felt raw, but there was a child in front of him, _his_ now. His to take care of until he is old enough to do it himself.

Remembers Anakin, touching the braid with reverent hands, feeling the promise it brings and smiling shyly, whispering, awed, _that’s so wizard._

He can’t- He can’t- He kneels and bends down, until his forehead is touching the sand, scorching hot, burning his skin.

He can’t let go.

*

He very carefully doesn’t think of other Jedi, of his family and friends, of the dead.

*

There’s a disturbance in the Force one day and he startles and investigates, but finds only toddler Luke, lifting a toy with the Force, giggling in joy. He stares uncomprehendingly for a long time, struggling to understand the shift in the Force before it hits him, like a speeder at full strength. It’s been a long time since he felt anyone reach into the Force with joy. He takes a deep breath and extends his senses, savours the feeling, smiling, drunk on it, before Owen comes out and collects Luke.

The Light retreats and leaves only Dark. He reaches for Luke, through the Force, desperate and latches onto his presence and tugs.

He doesn’t notice his own Light dimming.

*

That night Luke wakes up terrified from a nightmare of two men fighting with laser swords on a red red world.

* * *

Luke is five when he walks through the desert on a dare, in search of a wizard. He finds him, sitting on sand, legs crossed and eyes closed.

“Hello.” he says, because he wasn’t raised by Jawas, and the wizard doesn’t startle, just slowly opens his eyes and looks at him.

They are yellow, twin suns of Tatooine on a man’s face and how can anyone survive having that inside? Something whispers _Run_ , but he doesn’t listen because Uncle Owen says you never show your back to danger. You walk backwards facing it, so you can see death coming. He doesn’t do that either because he was _dared_ , and dares are serious business.

The man smiles, gently, and says “Hello there, young one.” The voice is soft, gentle and the accent is the type you only hear on holonet and the news from the Core. He sounds friendly, but so do Jawas when they want something they can’t steal or buy. 

“Why are your eyes yellow?” Luke asks. It could be a trait of whichever people the wizard belongs to, but the voice whispers _wrong wrong wrong_ in his ear, and he knows it’s not. He feels fear tremble his bones, but he is not a coward, no matter what Biggs says.

The man startles before the surprise turns to shock and then quickly to something Luke doesn’t know the word for yet. Sadder than sad. Hurt. His face like Bigg’s house after the Tuskens razed it down.

The wizard swallows loudly and slowly blinks the yellowness away. He doesn’t answer, and Luke knows he should leave. He approaches instead, because he is the son of his parents and he has no common sense.

The wizard keeps completely still as Luke settles on the sand across from him, too curious for his own good.

“I’m Luke,” he says and waits.

“Ben.” The man responds and Luke tries to hide his disappointment. Wizards are supposed to have strange names, aren’t they? Ben doesn’t sound strange at all.

Ben closes his eyes again after Luke doesn’t say anything else.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Meditating.” Ben answers, eyes still closed.

“What is that?”

“It can be many things. Right now I’m trying to calm myself down.”

“You look calm to me.”

Ben only hmms and rolls his shoulders.

“Is it working?” Luke asks, after a few minutes of complete silence.

“No.” Ben says sadly and clenches his eyes shut more tightly, as if afraid to open them.

Luke understands, a bit. He doesn’t want to see those yellow eyes again.

*

Obi-Wan meditates long after Luke leaves. Wondering how this could have happened. Yellow eyes are a sign of the dark side and he’s not- He’s _not_.

He’s been releasing his anger, he’s been releasing his fear and hatred-

He sighs, defeated. There’s more to dark than that. He’s been keeping his pain close to his heart. Nested inside his rib cage, safe. His loss, his sadness, his despair.

He wraps his cloak around himself tightly. It’s been hard to reach for the Force. It burns too brightly. It screams too loud. He hasn’t dared go into a deep trance since before the Purge. He knows he must. His own reluctance annoys him. There was a time when he would not have hesitated. But that was before- Before.

He huffs. It’s important for anyone to deal with their emotions, even more so for Force Sensitives. He can do this. He is not an Initiate anymore. Or his _Padawan_ , he thinks viciously, _who never learned_. Never accepted the need for it.

He takes a deep breath and sinks into meditation.

*

_Well, kriff, this is not good._

There’s a fledgling bond between him and Luke. Fragile little thing, twisting and grey and letting roots. Bonds are usually white. Between two light siders. But his own presence is darkened. Not fallen, not yet, but getting there and it’s affecting the bond, affecting _Luke_ , in a way he will not allow.

He breaks it as gently as he can and acknowledges his own reluctance to do so. It was the right thing to do, he knows. He feels the absence of Luke’s Light keenly. The Force attempts to soothe him, but the hollowness inside him is hard to fill.

He needs help. The Force stops screeching in his ear the moment he thinks it.

He hesitates. It’s dangerous to travel. Surely he can deal with this himself. It’s not that bad. It was just a momentary lapse. Must have been. A new dawn will bring clarity. It had just been a bad few days. That’s all. Him seeking help with this will just endanger the other Jedi.

He settles in for the night, decided.

The sleep doesn’t come. He tosses and turns in his bed and squeezes his eyes shut. The Force prods him, doesn’t let him sleep. _Move_ , it seems to say, _move move move_.

He doesn’t want to move. He will not.

*

He gets up couple of hours later and packs.

Yoda is not going to be happy. 

*

Yoda whacks him on the shin, “Careful, you were not!”

_Whack_

“A Youngling, you are not! Know better, you should.”

Obi-Wan jumps out of the way of Yoda’s gimer stick and hastily steps back when Yoda moves to follow him.

“Hmm.” Master Yoda says, disapprovingly and thumps his stick on the ground a few times for emphasis.

“I know, Master.” He says and Yoda gives him a long look, before sighing, sadly.

“Understandable it is.” He comes to Obi-Wan and he tenses, ready to jump away if Yoda decides to whack him again, but the old Master only pats his knee gently, “Come. Meditate together we will.” He hmms determinedly and starts walking away.

*

He cries when they connect in the Force. Yoda’s presence is as Light as ever, as Light as Dagobah itself, a planet teeming with Living Force, green with no technology in sight and uninhabited, except for Yoda.

Yoda looks away and his ears drop and curl slightly at the tips. His species doesn’t cry like humans do.

“Tatooine Dark is.” He says, eventually, “Dry. Not much life. Slaves, slavers, mercenaries. Hutts. Meeting point for criminals it is. Free and happy rare are. Living Force struggles. Bad history the planet has. Not good for Jedi to stay long. Not now, when wounded we are.” Ha pauses, “Visions you had? Many?”

Obi-Wan winces, “A few.”

“Strong in the Unifying Force you are. Strange it is not. And easier on Unifying Force to focus it is, if not much Living Force there is.”

“Vader will never go there. I _know_ it. ”

“True that is.” Yoda says sadly, “Not much choice we have. Stay there Luke must.”

Obi-Wan scrubs a hand over his face.

“Stay there _you_ need not.” Yoda adds and Obi-Wan freezes.

“Master-”

“Attached you are. A bond to break already you had to. Danger to the boy, _you_ are.”

“I have not Fallen.”

Yoda looks at him seriously, neither denying or confirming. He’s griping his stick tightly and Obi-Wan waits in muted horror, but the old Master only sighs before saying, “Sought help you have. On time. If on Tatooine you stay, help again you might need. Old I am.” He looks at him significantly and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to think about what that statement implies.

“I’ll be more careful. I can do it.”

Yoda gave him a long searching look. “Yes, yes. _Can_ , yes. But _should_? Hmm hmm. Ask the Force, you should.”

*

It takes awhile for Yoda’s eyes to lose that pinched look. Even longer until he leaves him alone for more than ten minutes.

*

He and Anakin are back to back, glowing lightsabers in their hands and a swarm of droids all around them. They move, impossibly fast, twirling around one another, never in the way, always in the right place, in sync, entwined in the Force but not as one. Never, always as two, separate but matching, close, brother from another mother.

He looks at Anakin when they are done, dead metal strewn all around them, and Anakin grins back, wild and gold eyed-

The metal around them turns to flesh and their lightsabers are red.

For the first time he becomes aware of the mechanical breathing and when he turns to look at Anakin again, it’s Darth Vader he sees, black and foreboding but still recognizably Anakin in the Force, still matching and-

“Padawan,” he whispers, raw, and turns his lightsaber off “you went where I won’t follow.”

He wakes up crying, and let’s his Padawan go. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He remembers Master Jinn letting him go, easy as anything, and is not sure which one of them had it right, in the end.

He does not hear Qui-Gon Jinn’s ghost next to him, keeping vigil, saying all those things he didn’t when he was alive. Does not hear, _I still can’t let you go_.

(Half a galaxy away, Darth Vader wakes from the same dream, the same vision and feels numb. The words are familiar. His angel had once told him something similar his Master just did. She had said _can’t follow_ and Obi-Wan said _won’t follow,_ and something about the difference seems significant, even though ultimately it’s not. They have both betrayed him. )

*

Master Yoda approaches him and tugs at his trousers. Obi-Wan sits down on the ground and faces him at eye level.

Master Yoda hmms thoughtfully. “Not ready yet, you are. Saw that tree you wrecked in the woods, I have.”

Obi-Wan bows his head, ashamed. He let his anger get the best of him. Some Master he is.

Yoda frowns disapprovingly, sensing his thoughts. “Keeping the anger in, bad is. Let it out you should, hmm, but not with lightsaber. Give it to the Force, yes. So taint you, it does not.”

“I know, Master.”

“Help remembering sometimes, we all do.” 

He doesn’t say anything and the old Master continues. “Fear your anger, I do not. To control it, learned you have, before. Despair, absence of hope, harder to deal with are.”

*

He wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold, only to see a clawed hand tug his blanket up to his chin, up from where it had pooled down around his waist. He burrows into the warmth of the blanket and falls back asleep, his eyelids heavy.

It feels like a dream, but he knows it wasn’t. He remembers it happening before, in the crèche, when he was still a child. There is no member of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant that _hasn’t_ been tucked in by Yoda at least once.

He closes his eyes against the tears. He has known Mater Yoda his entire life. He’s never been to Dagobah before, but he feels like he is _home_.

And he can’t _stay_. The Force thrills mournfully in his ear, regretful but insistent.

It’s time to go.

*

Yoda disapproves.

“The Force doesn’t want me here, Master.” Obi-Wan says, “Can’t you tell?”

Yoda grumbles, “Tell, I can. Happy about it I do not have to be. Better you are, but not well.”

“Trust in the Force, Master.” Obi-Wan says, cheekily.

Yoda cuts him a baleful look, and clutches his stick. Obi-Wan jumps out of the way before it connects with his shin.

* 

He goes back to Tatooine, but not to stay. He checks on Luke and prepares to spend a night in town, before booking a transport off planet.

He goes to cantina because the Force insists, and who is he to deny the Force when it wants him to go drinking?

There are clone troopers in the cantina, moving with precision, their voices monotone and presence intimidating even the hardened criminals present. Those people know danger when they see it, know how well the clones are trained and know they have not shown any mercy since the Empire was born.

Obi-Wan should leave. They are not here for him, but he shouldn’t tempt fate. He looks at them through the Force and they are blank as his men on Utapau were and it hurts, fiercely and it makes him angry and ashamed and he takes a deep breath and gives it to the Force.

The Force tells him to stay and he listens, mostly because his glass is still half full, and Corellian whiskey is not cheap and is about the only thing he allows himself to indulge in, occasionally.

He glances at the entrance, expectantly, and another clone enters and heads straight for the other ones.

His world shatters, for a moment, before it rearranges into something similar, but not quite the same. Something delicate and bright.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know any of them personally, but it doesn’t matter; He’s about to get to know them. Or at least one of them. The one who came last.

The one who isn’t blank.

(His hands shake when he drains his glass.)

*

He mind tricks the blank clones to leave and corners the last one in an alley, out of sight of curious eyes. He pulls his hood down when the clone raises his blaster and the trooper freezes in recognition. They may not have personally met, but he was a High General in the army. His face is as well known to the clone as the clone’s one is to him. He steps closer, ignoring the blaster still aimed in his direction, and the trooper blinks and quickly glances around to make sure they are alone.

“We need to talk.” Obi-Wan says and leads the way into one of the nearby abandoned houses.

*

“General Kenobi.” The trooper says, something fragile in his voice, tiny.

“What is your name?” He asks and the clone’s breath hitches, and he blinks rapidly and _oh_ , Obi-Wan realizes, it must have been years since anyone acknowledged that this man even has one.

“Basher.” He says, and Obi-Wan smiles, gently.

“Nice to meet you, Basher. I have some questions, if you don’t mind.”

*

“They don’t remember their names.” He whispers, a thread of horror and anguish in his voice, “I didn’t either,” he confesses, small and guilty, “until I developed a brain tumor and needed surgery. I remembered after it.”

Obi-Wan frowns.

“We are just _numbers_ again, General.”

“But what _happened_?”

“Order 66. All Jedi are identified as traitors to the Galactic Republic and are to be executed. The Order suppressed all our individuality and will. We got… pushed down, and what rose didn’t care for anything but following orders. There are chips in our heads.” he whispers the last sentence, “My tumor was not a tumor.”

The General strokes his beard in thought and Basher doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s a familiar and often mocked sight among the brothers. General Kenobi will stroke his beard at least once in every conversation.

The General must sense his thoughts because he clears his throat awkwardly and hides his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. 

_Jedi magic_. Basher sighs and misses his Jedi fiercely. They had a little Commander on board. A precious, vicious little Nautolan who had placed himself between brothers and enemy fire with his lightsaber swinging protectively more times than Basher can count. They shot him in the back when the Order 66 came. Shot him dead.

“Chips.” the General states quietly, heart-brokenly. “Good solders follow orders.” he says as if remembering something he had heard before, and Basher flinches at the phrase. Kenobi closes his eyes and Basher watches, stupefied, because he has seen a Jedi grieve before, but never like this.

When he opens his eyes, they are not quite blue. Basher stops breathing and doesn’t start again until they loose the yellow shine. They weren’t yellow Sith eyes, but they weren’t not yellow either.

The General looks at Basher’s hand at his hip, where it hovers above his weapon and Basher follows his eyes and blinks, confused, because he doesn’t remember reaching for his blaster. He gulps and lowers his arm.

Kenobi gives him a sad smile, “I’m sorry,” he says, “It has been a trying few years.”

Basher gives him a _look_ , “I think that’s an understatement, Sir.”

Kenobi quirks his mouth in a semblance of a smile. It’s a pathetic little thing, pitiful, like it doesn’t remember what it’s supposed to be, but he’ll take anything over the not quite blue eyes. 

*

Basher looks at him as if he is something precious, thought lost.

“General,” he whispers, and his voice breaks, as if it hurts to say the word. “General,” he repeats, stronger, full of something that sounds suspiciously like hope, and Obi-Wan shouldn’t let it grow, he shouldn’t. He is just one man, he cannot do whatever the trooper thinks he can but- but, his heart starts pounding, and what if- what if he _can_. And even if he can’t… Can he live with himself if he doesn’t try?

Because Basher is here, not blank, feeling like himself, and what if the others can be restored as well?

“Basher,” he asks, hesitant, too afraid to hope, almost, “Are there others?”

The man looks at him, measuring, “A few,” he admits, a secret, a gift, precious, dangerous knowledge, “half a dozen, that I know of.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what sort of look he has on his face, but Basher straightens his back at the sight of it, and meets his eyes with unshakable resolve. The Force thrills a subtle note, gentle approval.

He was not made to sit still and wait for someone else to grow up and do something. It’s not right to make Luke and Leia carry that burden.

 _I’m a Jedi_ , he thinks, chastising himself for having forgotten, _I’m a Jedi._

He meets Basher’s eyes. _Well_ , he thinks, _I_ did _vow to start a war for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a combination of two separate fics I originally meant to write. The final product is nothing like what I intended for either one. The scene with Luke was supposed to be a short one-shot that would have ended with terrible implications of what it would mean for the galaxy for Sith!Obi-Wan to be actively involved in Luke's life from a very young age. But Obi-Wan really didn't want to be evil, so I had to re-write stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: [kzesl](http://kzesl.tumblr.com)  
> Feel free to come and say hi.


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